by Mather Schneider
Shannon was born 4 months premature
to a crack head mom.
She was so small
you could see her heart
like a goldfish
under paper-thin ice.
The hospital lights ripped and ruined
her tiny retinas
and the doctors didn’t give her
a month
but somehow here she is
30 years later
blindly limping toward my taxi on
taffy legs
with Lloyd,
her loyal yellow lab
guiding the way.
Lloyd climbs into the cab,
sinks to the floor
with a happy huff
and then Shannon feels her way
like a spelunker.
When she's comfortable
I drive her to the public pool
where she will sit so peaceful
under her dark umbrella
with an icy coke, moving her hand in
and out of the shade.
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